


Lightning Strikes

by crspnwah (walkydeads)



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, if u squint, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkydeads/pseuds/crspnwah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colin Cassady gets attention because he has to duck under doorways. Enzo Amore, he thinks, is so much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning Strikes

Being seven feet tall gets you a lot of attention.

Cass knows this now, but he didn’t always. He shot up like a wheat stalk his last year of high school, but up until then, he’d been about five foot seven, stringy, and hadn’t quite grown into his nose yet. Couple that with the poorly styled, closely cropped hair that was en vogue in the early 2000s, and Colin Cassady was virtually irrelevant.

Being basically invisible meant that Cass had spent most of his formative years perfecting the art. He’d press himself into a wall, sit in the furthest seat from the teacher, three rows from the back, and just read. Speaking unless spoken to was always a bad idea when the stronger kids always outnumbered him and the meaner ones always said something about him to make the rest of the class laugh, so he just… didn’t draw attention to himself. And it paid off, in a way. He didn’t have many friends except the guys he was on track team with, and he never dated anybody. But on the other hand, he did get that much needed scholarship to NYU.

Unfortunately, he’d just sprouted up around prom season, and going from 5 and a half feet tall to six and some substantial change, growing his hair out simply out of laziness, and finally growing into his nose made him something of a heartthrob, a commodity, and apparently the entire cheerleading squad’s ideal date. He… didn’t end up going to prom. Instead, he hung out with a girl from his calculus class and two guys from track. They got high and marathoned a bunch of episodes of House, M.D.

Sure, by NYU, Cass had been willing to go out and try being the charismatic bachelor he’d always kind of fantasized about being. But it was a lot less fun than he’d imagined. He went from smoking bowls in his friend's basement to doing lines in too-loud dance clubs, getting grinded against by drunk girls, and feeling like he was about to regurgitate his own heart. It took about a year for that to get old, even though it had never been especially fun. Joining the basketball team helped. The coach had practically begged him to try out just because of his stature, and to his surprise he was actually quite good. It hadn’t been that way in high school for sure.

So he lifted weights and continued to run in his spare time and always kept his nose in a book, avoiding socializing in any aspect. He got along with his roommate, but spent most of his time perched on the fire escape with a book to avoid turning down invitations to the club. He made it out of college with a degree and a blossoming ticket brokering business and not especially any worse for wear. He started wrestling because he’d loved it since he was a kid and had the build for it, struggled on for a few years until one day a scout handed him a business card and at his next show he was led to a private room to meet with Paul Levesque.

The possibility of being on television was daunting, but some of his college basketball games had been televised, so he figured he could handle it. He said only thing when he signed the NXT contract: “You might wanna get someone else to do the talking for me, at least at first. Maybe a tag team partner, or a manager or something”

The first day of NXT training was nerve-wrecking, and Cass genuinely considered just apologizing and telling them he wasn’t the right guy. It seemed like a lot of the trainers were already under that impression anyway. But that was when Dusty Rhodes pulled him aside and told him he had potential, he just needed a mouthpiece.

“With that in mind,” Dusty lisped, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Enzo Amore was a lot of things rather immediately. While Cass was maybe simultaneously tall and handsome, Enzo was animated, with an odd but attractive face, wide eyes, average in height but muscular at once, and he just wouldn’t stop moving. He was all but dancing on the balls of his feet, smiling wide and shaking Cass’ hand in an iron grip when they were introduced.

While Enzo seemed very much at ease with himself, there was a split second where the uncertainty Cass knew all too well crossed his face, and he scratched at the back of his head, looking away. “Sorry, man,” he chucked, “I’ve been told I talk too much. Don’t wanna run you off right at the start.”

“I don’t mind,” Cass grinned.

And he really didn’t.

They eased into being tag team partners like they’d been lifelong friends. They took the same rental cars, slept in the same hotel rooms, shared an apartment, and didn’t even realize this was atypical until the other guys in the division would ask if they wanted to trade off. Thing was, they never did. They never could. Enzo got on people's’ nerves that didn’t understand, and Cass was so quiet and such a stay-at-home kind of guy that he just straight up unnerved everyone. The only way they worked well was together, and frankly Cass wouldn’t have it any other way.

Enzo had been talking about competitive sandcastle building while Cass looked it up on his phone to occasionally contribute when a well-meaning Kevin Owens leaned over, elbowed Cass in the ribs, and said with a smile, “Geez, how can you stand him?”

Cass levelled him with a glare so intense Kevin simply got up and walked away.

But that was just how it was. Cass didn’t mean anything by his adamant defense of Enzo, and Enzo didn’t mean anything by jumping around all excited, talking the ears off of anyone in a fifty foot radius. He filled the gaps Cass left, and Cass loved him for it. There was never silence in their rooms or their car, and it was a comforting sort of background noise.

For his part, Cass played the part of the muscle to Enzo’s mouth all too well. It was his idea for their matches to involve moves that would require him to toss Enzo into the air, bounce him against the ropes, or just plain throw him at their opponents, and Enzo loved every moment of it. He said it made him feel like a kid again, flying through the air like he was jumping off of a swing set. And apparently, he wasn’t the only one that enjoyed their unique brand of teamwork. The higher ups took notice possibly a little too soon, and with that, they were on to the next big thing.

Being called up was both the happiest and scariest moment of Cass’ life, and he can tell Enzo feels the same way because of how quiet he is, like he’s listening to every word, afraid to mess anything up.

Everything after that amazes and floors Cass. They debut to screams and cheers and they don’t go away, week after week. Enzo floors them with his words, Cass does so with his moves, and they’re on a roll, they’re gonna get the championship belts in just a few months, Cass can practically taste it.

But then Payback happens.

They’re supposed to win, that goes without saying. But something goes wrong, Enzo goes through the ropes wrong, and Cass is rushing over to help him when a staff member yells, “Don’t move him!” and Cass realizes how serious it probably is.

He just keeps following enzo. 

But of course he does, right? Hes supposed to wait for Enzo to tag him in. 

On some level he knows he's just standing there while they carefully put him on a stretcher, following with cement shoes as they wheel him to the ambulance outside.

They won't let him come along, of course, an EMT explaining that he's too tall, that with all seven feet of him folded up into the back of that ambulance beside his friend, there won't be enough room for them to work. Cass doesn't think they realize that the only reason he finally broke down and huddled over against the wall is that he can't see enzo anymore, they shut the ambulance door already.

Of course, the same EMT is trying to convince him that they'll be in touch, that everything will be fine, that Enzo has a healthy pulse and he'll wake up in a short while but none of that matters if he can't see him. Cass waits for the cameramen to go back inside before shrugging the guy off and ambling in behind them.

Vince is there - of course he's there - and he herds Cass, Simon and Aiden into his makeshift office in one of the VIP lounges at the venue. They're alone. Simon's already apologizing profusely, saying he thought Enzo would go into the ropes, not try to duck under them. To his credit, Vince lets him talk before telling them that this might have a negative effect on their careers with WWE, and that they might have to prepare to go back to NXT, or even Ohio Valley. 

After that, he waves Gotch and English off, and it's just Vince and Cass, which is scarier than it should be. Cass has only met the man twice, and neither time was in a one-on-one setting. Enzo had always been right beside him.

"In the future," Vince says, looking more tired than he has any right to, "Should something like this happen again...Don't follow the EMTs out. Go backstage if you must, but do so quietly. Had people inside the building figured out where you were, you could have been bombarded by fans, the ambulance could have been blocked off. I realize the shock of the situation, but its most important that he's seen to immediately."

"I understand," Cass swallows.

"I do hope he's alright, you understand," Vince says, dragging a hand down his face and sighing, "I've lost way too many promising talents to injuries like that, one way or another. I'm hoping for the best, but at worst... I need to know if you're prepared to stand alone here if he should have to bow out of live events for a while. Or if he can't come back."

Cass just stares down at his hands. He's still in his gear, meaning he's essentially having a life-or-death talk with Vince MacMahon in his underwear. "I don't know," he says, finally.

"I can understand that. Take the evening. Go ahead and get to the hospital, see if they'll update you on his condition, maybe it'll give you some peace of mind," Vince's generosity visibly drains from him as he continues, "But, I need a solid answer one way or another by tomorrow afternoon. Creative is at best going to have to rewrite weeks of material, and at worst going to have to give reasons for your absence, I need to get them working on Raw's script as soon as possible."

Cass nods, not giving a damn, "I understand."

He makes it to the rental car before remembering that he and Enzo drove in with Kevin Owens, and Kevin has the keys. Trudging back to the locker room, he finds Kevin already changing, grinning at Cass and saying, "I'm surprised you even stopped to put on pants," before that grin falls right back off.

"Hey, man," Kevin says soothingly, "He's gonna be fine."

"Hopefully," Cass agrees.

"No," Kevin corrects, "He will absolutely be fine. Hurry up and get dressed. I'll drive."

Cass doesn't bother arguing.

The drive to the hospital is tense to say the least. Kevin drums his thumbs on the steering wheel without any sort of rhythm. Cass sits in his stupid navy blue suit, wondering why he didn't bring another change of clothes, staring out the passenger side window like a melancholy teenager.

He tries to imagine how Enzo would feel in this situation, but he comes up empty handed. He'd never let himself get hurt this bad and Enzo knows that. Meaning Enzo would probably be even more lost and afraid if the tables were turned.

Enzo is already awake by the time they get there, all his vitals are good, and he's in a great mood, shuffling around the hospital room, letting Kevin take selfies and the like. 

It was only a concussion. Thank god.

Still, worry filters through Cass' mind at the word. Mick Foley's memory loss, Daniel Bryan's retirement, the sad but inevitable dissolve of Chris Benoit's sanity. All because of something as seemingly small as a concussion. As soon as Enzo stops moving around the room, Cass grabs him, pulls him into a hug, and doesn't let go.

"Geez, Col," Enzo says dryly into his shoulder, "I didn't know ya cared so much."

I love you, you monumental idiot, Cass wants to say. But of course he can't.

He stays, if only because Enzo insists that they aren’t going anywhere. He wrestles alone for a few weeks, and the week Enzo makes his return, he can’t hide his grin, his feeling of all-consuming triumph. In due time, they will get their titles, they will run this show, and no one will be able to stop them. Only because they’re together, of course.

There are whispers in the locker room about how Cass is what Vince wants in a champion, Cass could be called up alone in the draft and get his own push for the title because he has the right look. To his end, he has no idea what’s going to happen. But, when he and Enzo go to Raw together, he knows it really couldn’t happen any other way.

Maybe he is seven feet tall, maybe he’s Vince McMahon’s ideal champion, maybe he has what it takes to be the number one contender. But there’s something people either seem to understand from the get go, or never really get. He and Enzo are more than a team. He and Enzo are pre-destined for greatness, and he could never do half the things he’s done without Enzo at his side.

He’ll tell Enzo he loves him finally, years later.

“Yeah, me too,” Enzo will say, and when Cass feels the urge to clarify on his tongue, he’ll realize Enzo knows what he means, always has and always will.

And when Enzo pulls all seven feet of him down for a kiss, Cass will realize how long he’s been waiting for this last piece to fall into place.


End file.
